“Okay,” Paul said when Craig had almost got to the point when he thought he might have lost him and the two of them would be standing there forever until the end of bloody time. “Okay. That sounds like a plan to me. After tonight, I think we both need it. So let's do it then.”
Then Paul smiled, the bouncer laughed, and time began moving again. Outside, it was bloody
freezing
but Paul opened his fleece, pulled Craig inside it so they were bundled up together, and rubbed his hands until they were warm again.
“I don't know,” he said. “Bloody
models
. So busy making a killing with the way they look that they can't even choose something decent to wear in winter. Have you not heard of coats?”
“D-don't suit me,” Craig shivered. “Anyway, I don't model for coats. The p-people I work for like a bit of flesh on show.”
“Yeah. Well. They're not the only ones. Talking of which, whatever happened to the leathers and chains you were wearing when I first met you? I've never seen them since.”
“I rented them,” Craig replied. “Thought it was a fetish night at the club that night. It wasn't though, was it?”
“No, it wasn't.”
They began laughing and the fleece all but fell off, but Paul caught it in time. Even the cold wasn't stopping Craig from feeling as horny as hell, and he hoped that was true for Paul too.
“Tube and walk to mine then?” he said, but Paul shook his head.
“No. Bus and mine. It's time you stayed over with me.”
* * * *
Stepping inside Paul's Hackney flat felt as if Craig was crossing a border. They hadn't spoken much on the bus ride to his home. He worried that if he said anything, Paul might change his mind. Craig's erection was still rubbing against his jeans—stupid choice really for a night of clubbing, but he hadn't intended to go—and he hoped he could last out for the promises he'd made. When Paul's hand had brushed against his leg, either by accident or design, Craig had almost jumped. Really, in spite of all his brave words, he could look like an idiot sometimes. Why couldn't he ever be suave and sophisticated when this bloke was around?
Now, as Paul let him in and switched on the light, Craig found his heart was beating fast and his head was buzzing. Probably the aftermath of the club, but it still felt right. Even though his hard-on had subsided a little. Paul showed him into his living room, clutching the fleece. Craig stared around, took in the dark cream sofa with its pale blue throw, the glass coffee table, the scattering of newspapers sliding off it onto the carpet. Beyond all this stood a fireplace and mantelpiece with a pair of Staffordshire dogs. And Craig only knew that because he'd watched some antiques program with the girls last week. It didn't seem very like the Paul he was coming to know, so he took a closer look.
“Yes.” Paul gave him an embarrassed grin. “They
are
Staffordshire dogs. And yes I know it's maybe not what you expected, but they were a present from my mother.”
“I didn't mean—”
“It's okay. Everyone notices them when they come here.” As he spoke, his face darkened and he turned away.
Craig wanted nothing more then but to hold him. But he sensed Paul couldn't handle that just now.
“I'm not everyone,” he said instead. “I'm not whoever's been here before, done stuff to you. I'm not your past, Paul, though I suppose I'm probably the product of mine. For better or worse. Anyway, I'm me. The dogs are fine. I like surprises.”
A couple of seconds later, Paul's groin was thrusting into his, bringing his erection up to full strength again, and Craig's tongue was halfway down Paul's throat. He still tasted of beer. How Craig loved beer. The weight of him slammed Craig back into the mantelpiece and he thanked God the ruddy fire wasn't on. At the same time, he felt something cold and hard fall onto his shoulder. With a moan and still kissing Paul as if his life depended on it, Craig let go of his hair where he'd been stroking it and reached back, trying to grasp at whatever it was. The dog, it was one of the dogs, he realized. He pushed it back, praying it wouldn't break.
Paul broke away, murmuring, “Leave it. It's fine. Don't worry.”
“But I—”
“Just fuck me,” he said. “Like you said. Please.”
With a glance to see that the wretched dog was safe—it was—he steered Paul over toward the door, pushing him backward with his legs. “Where's your bedroom?”
“No time.
Now.
I can't wait.”
As he spoke, Paul pulled his shirt upward and off and flung it away. Burying his head at the curve of his boyfriend's shoulder and running his hands down his spine, Craig pushed him onto the floor. They narrowly missed the coffee table. Turning him around and easing the condoms from his back pocket, he struggled with Paul's belt while undoing his own zipper.
“I-I can't...” Craig stammered, cursing when he couldn't unhook him quickly enough.
“I'll do it.” Paul released himself in seconds, and they both pulled his trousers down. Somehow he must have slipped off his shoes when Craig wasn't paying attention. Finally Craig's zipper was free. At once his cock sprung upward, tip already glistening.
Hands trembling and still cursing his own slowness, Craig managed to get the condom on at last. Then, in the absence of anything else, he spat on his fingers, wiped the spit over himself, and pushed inside Paul.
He'd thought this would be a quick one, everything over in seconds so they could do it more slowly the second time. And maybe on a bed too. Paul's carpet wasn't the most comfortable place he'd ever had sex, and Craig couldn't imagine it was any better for him. He'd thought it would be quick. He was wrong.
Once he was inside him, Paul grabbed his hand, which had just closed around his cock, and forced Craig to be still.
“No, not yet,” he whispered. “Lie with me for a bit instead before you see to me. Will you? Just lie with me.”
“Okay.”
Everything stopped then, or at least slowed down. He lay with Paul, right arm pressed against the floor, cock quivering inside his boyfriend as every now and then Paul clenched his arse, left leg draped over his. Through his T-shirt, Craig could feel every part of Paul's back against his chest, could smell the faint herbal scent of his hair, could taste that aftershave of his when he kissed his neck. He wasn't sure how long he could hold on without coming or why his boyfriend had suddenly changed the mood of what they were doing, but he realized he liked it. He liked being here with Paul now. No, it was more than that. As he'd told him already. He loved being here with him now. Whatever happened after. Words Craig wanted to say filled his mouth but he swallowed them down. They wouldn't make sense anyway and, besides, being here was enough.
Gradually, other things drifted into his consciousness: the slow ticking of a clock; the gurgle of a radiator; the distant hum of what might have been a night bus passing in the street. And as always, the sensations flowing in deep waves over his body as he lay poised between enjoyment and release.
At last, though he couldn't tell how long they'd lain there in silence, Paul spoke. His voice was husky. It vibrated through him, as sexy as hell.
“Making love,” he whispered. “Sometimes it's nicer than fucking, isn't it?”
As he spoke, his arse tightened, and he pushed back against Craig. Without warning or even the realization that it
could
happen like this, he was coming, his whole body—not just his cock—gripped in a current he could no longer control. As if from a great distance, he heard himself crying out, a high-pitched long moan that dissolved into sobs and almost-laughter. At the same time, Paul began pumping his own cock with Craig's hand and a moment later he felt hot spunk sliding through his fingers.
Craig swore softly in delight and collapsed behind him. He lay there, panting, unable to speak while Paul dealt with the condom, removing it from him, tying it safe and dropping it on a page of the newspaper on the carpet. Unable to take the smile from his face, the only thing Craig could do was watch him.
All the time, his mind was singing with the fact that what he'd thought would be a quick fuck hadn't been that at all. It had been something he'd never experienced before. Not even with ... no, not now; he couldn't think of that now.
Paul stood up. He was naked and the long line of his body, even with its scars—the history of what he'd been through—made Craig swallow. Hard. He of course was still fully clothed, only his fly undone. Paul gazed down at him and stretched out his hand.
“Come to bed with me,” he said.
His bedroom was small, comfortable. Light green walls and a large bed covered with a deep green duvet. It hadn't been made. Next to it, the bedside table was piled high with papers and one or two novels. Craig's gaze skittered over them, not resting for long on anything until he looked at Paul again.
“You're the first man who's been in here,” Paul said, “since ... since....”
“That bloke you split up with?” Craig's voice sounded strange, as if he'd been running for a long time. “The one who hurt you so much?”
Paul nodded, took a breath as if he might be going to say something else. Craig could see the tears in his eyes, and the way he was trying to hide them too.
“Well, I'm here now,” he said softly. “And I know that what's been happening hasn't been easy, but please believe that, no matter what I might or might not have done in the past, I don't want to hurt you, Paul.”
As he spoke, Craig reached up and stroked his face.
“Thank you,” Paul said.
With that, he pushed Craig gently backward so the two of them fell, gasping, onto his duvet. Craig eased his shoes off, but when he started to grapple with the T-shirt, Paul shook his head, stopped him, and began kissing and licking the line of his stomach as he rolled the shirt up. He groaned and heard Paul chuckle. He continued to kiss Craig, drawing a line with his tongue from the belly button up toward the chest. It felt like fire on his skin.
By the time Paul reached his nipples, they were already hard and when he took the left one into his mouth, teeth grazing him, Craig groaned again. “
God
, Paul, I want—”
“Hush, I know. But wait for me. Can you do that? Can you wait for me?”
"Yes."
The affirmation escaped his lips as he ran his fingers through Paul's hair, feeling the softness of it. In truth, he wasn't that sure. He
hoped
he could wait, but with
this man
sometimes any control he might have was shot to pieces. Even now Craig's cock was pressing against him. “I don't know. I
think
so.”
This honesty brought another smile to Paul's lips as he glanced up. “Don't worry. It'll be okay. Trust me.”
Still murmuring words of reassurance, he slipped Craig's T-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. Before he could bring his arms down again, Paul took hold of both his wrists, pinioning them together. Craig gasped and Paul's tongue met his, driving a path deep within his mouth. With his free hand, he stroked Craig's arms, shoulders, and neck. By now Paul was straddling his body, cock pushing against him. But all Craig could concentrate on was their lips, the way their mouths felt together. The slow suck of saliva, the occasional clash of teeth. When at last they stopped kissing, Craig's chin and the sides of his mouth were wet and he was gasping for air. And for more of him.
“Do you like that?” Paul whispered, tongue now teasing his ear. “Do you like that, Craig?”
"Yes."
Smiling, he freed his wrists and Craig reached for his cock, but once again Paul stopped him. “No. This time I'm doing it to
you
, remember? All you have to do is enjoy it.”
“I—”
He silenced Craig with yet another kiss and then drew his lips upward, kissing his cheek, his nose, his eyes, his hair. And down again the other side of his face where he ran his tongue along Craig's neck, encircling his Adam's apple once, twice, then downward again to the nipples. Paul kissed every part of his chest and stomach until Craig's head felt dizzy and it was as if the two of them were alone, somewhere far away from London and all it contained. Alone and safe and in a place where their lovemaking could go on forever with no fear of disturbance. That would be so
good
and....
And he gasped again as he felt Paul lift up his arse and ease his jeans down over his legs. At the same time, his mouth encircled the tip of Craig's cock and then, cruelly, vanished as he struggled with removing the rest of the clothing.
“
No
,” Craig moaned, squirming on the bed and trying, in vain, to help him. “Please, don't stop touching me.”
Paul laughed as he finally freed him so Craig was as naked as he was. “God, you're demanding, but hey, I like that in a man. I like someone who knows what they want. So tell me, Craig, where do you want me to touch you the most?”
No contest there. “My cock. Touch my cock.
Please
.”
“Soon. Not yet, but soon.”
Then Paul disappeared and for a moment Craig had no idea where he'd gone, or why, but then he felt a warm tongue encircle his big toe before licking its way along the foot and around the instep—a sensation that made him cry out. No one had ever kissed him there before. He half thought about objecting as surely all the sweat and dirt of the nightclub must still be upon him, but then the ability to speak left him entirely. He'd never realized it could feel so good. Paul worked his way up his leg, kissing his calf, his knee, his thigh inch by inch. As had happened in the living room, time slowed, and Craig could feel each touch of his hands, the regular warmth of breath on skin. This time he felt as if he was floating along a warm river, heading to the sea. With the sun overhead in a clear sky and the two of them once more the only people in the world.
Paul reached his cock. Craig hissed between his teeth but before his boyfriend could do what he longed for, he'd moved on, onto his other leg and down toward his foot.
“Wait,” Paul whispered. “Wait.”
Craig only hoped he could. Attempting to think of something else apart from his throbbing cock and the warm sea of kisses Paul was surrounding him in was proving difficult. He groaned again and half-rose from the bed to try to reach him.